


White Noise

by Icarus_Solaire



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Baggage, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, ONLY FAMILY FEELS HERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 11:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_Solaire/pseuds/Icarus_Solaire
Summary: The admission had changed everything, and even if his brain was a jumble of white noise and confusion; he knew he couldn't go back. There was no way he could. Not now. Five years of thinking he knew who his father was and knew where he belonged was blown all to hell in a matter of moments. It just took one stupid, shaggy, half demon to fuck it up.  Leaving him standing there as the Qliphoth crumbled beneath his feet.So this was the Sparda way, it seemed. Do what the hell you wanted and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces.**Just a think piece of sorts about what's going through Nero's head when he finds out about his parentage.





	White Noise

**Author's Note:**

> So I have to apologize as I've not really written anything in a WHILE. Also this is the first ever thing I'm writing for DMC....so let's see how THAT goes. I didn't exactly have a beta reader and I know this isn't very meaty. To be honest, I wrote this mostly for myself because I wanted to explore what Nero was thinking when he found out about his father.
> 
> Maybe I should have thought a little more but, yknow, I figured I'd just get it out. I hope you at least are entertained! Thank you for reading my little adventure into figuring out Nero.

_“He’s your father!”_

It took three words, four if you count contractions as two; for Nero’s breath to freeze in his throat.

It was like a solid mass of ice stuck deep in his windpipe, choking him and catching any sort of coherent word or statement. If he were even capable of some semblance of a coherent thought.

The last month had been a whirlwind, that was sure, but it all seemed like the tip of the iceberg. Tip of the fucking iceberg that was lodged in his damn throat. He’d gotten his whole ass arm ripped off! He’d been called dead weight by the only living man he looked up to, and yeah it wasn’t lost on him just how fucked up THAT was.

Who actually looked up to Dante?

Apparently his dumbass….which maybe might have lent some to that betrayed expression that danced across his face as he struggled to force out a disbelieved , “What?”

His throat threatened to close up once again around that solid mass of emotion that hung there and he pushed out an almost inaudible. “No…no” His head shaking and eyes turning toward the ground but not seeing anything.

Nero could have been blind in that moment, for all he knew. Blind, deaf, and just throw in mute for good measure. He sure as hell couldn’t remember how to form words as Dante kept speaking.

“I had the feeling, the first time I saw you, but just wasn’t sure.” The devil hunter pushed the words out like they exhausted him.

He was exhausted? HAH! Like hell he even knew what that felt like compared to the younger devil hunter in that moment. He’d known THIS WHOLE TIME!!!??

That was almost enough to knock the wind right out of Nero, if he weren’t already struggling. He didn’t speak, couldn’t, and Dante sure as hell wasn’t giving him a moment to process before he continued.

“And then I saw how the Yamato reacted…and I was certain.” He was looking at Nero now, and if there was a fraction of remorse or regret there, the young man didn’t bother looking for it.

The Yamato. Seems like the things he, for lack of better words, _treasured_ had a way of misleading him. How she had sung in the presence of Vergil mere moments before he tore a piece of him away. Looks like the Sparda brothers sure were good at something….

“Now he needs an ass kicking…but I can’t have you go kill your old man. ”The hand on his shoulder felt like hot iron; heavy and it seared the spot it touched, making him want to swat it away like a petulant child.

Still, he didn’t look to or even acknowledge the elder hunter as he moved his hand away and walked on, eager to bring this to a close.

Nero was glued to his spot, chewing at the inside of his mouth as  his thoughts tried their best to form amidst the white noise and shock. His fingers tapped against his upper thigh, anxious and restless.

All he could manage was a half-hearted question to no one, looking in the direction of the disappearing figure.

“My father….?” The words hung and cut his throat as if he’d swallowed razor blades and his eyes stung with repressed emotion.

How could he even begin to explain to Dante, to himself, the reason those words cut so deeply? He barely realized it himself in that moment. Barely could admit that, for the last 5 years, he thought he knew his father.

Even if you looked past the hair and his uncanny ability to be stabbed through the chest and continue live like some demonic version of the energizer bunny; the signs were there. He’d seen them clear as day and it’s not like he WANTED Dante as a father. They had a similar penchant for talking smack. He used to think it was just his temper that lead him to back talk the nuns of the order but then he saw the Devil Hunter smack talk a weaponized statue that could have made even Godzilla look like small fry. That seemed like a familial trait.

Smack talk was sort of Dante’s M.O. Course, Nero took things a little more seriously. Not by much.

Even beyond that, there was the Yamato. That damn traitorous sword. Dante had went on about how it was his brother’s sword. Couldn’t have it just floating around, right? Had to stay in the family?? Yeh well, Nero had THOUGHT he got the memo loud and clear when he let him keep the sword. Even asked his name.

The elder half demon didn’t seem like the type to just _say_ it. ‘Oh I’m your father’. He was the type, Nero thought, to tell him in other ways. Like giving him the Yamato, and the sign for his van.

Fuck he’d thought he’d been something of a fucked up, proud father when Nero took on the ‘family’ business.

Lady had even commented, while they were on a job together, that he reminded her of Dante nearly 20 years ago. It’d came completely unprompted.

“Maybe a little more outwardly angry” She’d admitted, “but still that same level of cocky and maybe a little unhinged in a fight.”

Nero had scoffed at her, waved her off and acted as if it was an insult. It had, however; made something akin to happiness swell within him, even if he’d never admit it.

Just like, maybe, he’d never admit why the words ‘dead weight’ still kicked around in his head, making his stomach twist into a knot even now. They’d hurt a very vulnerable and _raw_ part of him that was still just a little boy, waiting for the acceptance and approval of someone he looked up to.

A someone who didn’t have faith in him, found him weak and turned him away. Dante didn’t trust his abilities. Atleast not in the same way he trusted Lady and the demon Trish.

Nero had dealt with that about as well as one would imagine and the same way he usually dealt with things. By killing a fuck ton of demons and pushing it way, way down where he didn’t have to think about it and he could cover it up with humor.

Sound like anyone else to you?

He focused on revenge too, revenge was a real good motivator for burying your family drama….

Except **NOW** his revenge, his hurt and his family drama was all one big, giant clusterfuck. The bastard demon who took his arm was his father. The genocidal bastard fucking up Red Grave City was his father. Not Dante, but _Vergil_.

He wasn’t even prepared to unpack just what all the hell V was exactly.

Nero tried to steady his breaths, he could feel the Qliphoth rumbling beneath him, and maybe he should get moving but his feet refused to move, not that he made much effort. His jaw clenched tightly, teeth grinding.

Dante. Fucking **Dante.** He had to spring this on him and walk away like it was nothing. Calling him dead weight, hiding who his real father was for what? His own good? Bullshit.

Dante could have fixed all of this, prevented maybe him even losing a goddamn arm by just telling him to begin with. He sat on this for 5 whole fucking years, but no. He had waited until Nero was so full of vitriol, rage and had nearly fucking _DIED_. But fucking **sure** he did it for Nero’s own good. Couldn’t have him killing his _old man_. Right.

Bull-Fucking-Shit. The legendary demon hunter had done it for himself. Done it to spare himself the conversation, the explanation, and from having to face his own demons.

Nero was definitely going through those five stages of grief, or whatever it was Kyrie went on about to the kids. Well, if he was then he was sure exactly the stage he was on right then because he was _pissed._ He hadn’t felt this angry in the past 5 years, not since the incident in Fortuna. He had Kyrie and the constant stream of demon’s to thank for that.

He’d have to ruminate on that idea a little while longer, just not now. Just then, a crack formed between his feet and he steeled himself, his feet finally choosing to move as the ground beneath him shook.

His brain was still a jumble, his chest tight, but there was one thing he was sure of: He was definitely going to beat the shit out of Dante the next time he saw him.

 


End file.
